Obvious
by petrelli heiress
Summary: Lyle noticed things, far more than people gave him credit for. And he certainly noticed the guy who moved in across the street. Lyle/Luke. One shot. So yeah, slash, don't like don't read.


**Obvious**

**Pairings: Lyle/Luke (Peter/Sylar at the end, if you must)**

**Author's Note: So, I was downloading NCIS...and my internet decided to crap out. This happened (also I was in a cracky mood, so yeah, may contain traces of crack)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes. No profit made. Etc. **

**__________________________________________________________________________________**

Once upon a time (which was actually not that long ago...maybe one or two years, give or take a few months) there lived a young boy. His name was not particularly important to other people, although I'm sure he felt differently. It wasn't as though he noticed much anyway. There were definitely much better things out there than so-called reality.

His PSP was his constant companion. Many people thought he played games on it. And he did. Why would he do anything else? It wasn't as though his life was interesting. Oh sure, his parents had just got divorced, their permanently single neighbour, Joe Blogs (or whatever his name was), was starting to spend an inordinate amount of time at their house, his sister had gone off to college without so much as a by-your-leave (and had apparently embarked on a relationship with her roommate, which was not cool _at all,_ my god, she's his _sister_, get your minds out of the gutter, people), his Dad talked about nothing but some Mysterious Magic Compass in their weekly phone calls (he had the feeling Dad didn't even realise he was listening) and, well, Mr. Muggles was lovesick. A very pretty spaniel had moved in next door and it had been love at first sight. Not that anyone actually noticed. Oh no. They were too consumed in their very busy and important existences. None of them had time to notice anything.

So yes, maybe he wasn't as oblivious as everyone thought he was (and his name certainly wasn't Larry, my god, or Kyle, or any other super strange variant, I mean, what weird imaginations these people do have, god). And he certainly noticed more than other people. But, dear god people, it was so damned _obvious. _

The spaniel's owner, for example. Anyone could tell _he _wasn't normal. No one wears that kind of shirt (_orange, _for crying out loud) with those trousers (don't even have the courage to spell it). It's just, would someone please explain this to him? Before Lyle suffered from permanent blindness?

Okay, yes, that's his name. Lyle. Of Old French origin, meaning 'island.' _Island. _Couldn't his parents have come up with a better name? For people called Noah (of Hebrew origin, meaning rest or comfort – really, what were _his _parents thinking?) and Sandra (of Greek origin, meaning defending men – okay, used to work, not anymore, Mom was a New Woman, whatever that meant) they sure hadn't thought it through. They certainly had with Claire (of Latin origin, meaning clear, bright or – get this, were they trying to give her a superiority complex? – famous). But no, they couldn't do that with their biological son. Oh no, that would have been a terrible waste of brain cells, my god.

Anyway. Lyle had a thing about orange. A hate on it, you might say. It went with nothing. His favourite quote was from Legally Blonde (don't judge, he'd been bored one day, and snooping through Claire's room, trying to find some serious blackmail material, he swears) – "Whoever said orange was the new pink was seriously disturbed." He'd heard that and thought, "This chick knows her shit."

Except possibly with better language, because Mom had told him to watch his mouth and he'd seriously been trying. It was just a bit hard. At least he wasn't drinking, or on drugs, or some shit like that. Mom should be grateful for what she had.

But that was the thing, see. He cared. He didn't drink, even though his friends did and certainly didn't want to look like some social pariah, which was the way it was going if he didn't just man up and drink that shit down. Or so they said. And he'd never smoked (that joint last year didn't count, he'd been experimenting and, dear god, he'd never experiment again). The reason being, his mother wouldn't be able to cope with yet another problem. She was strong, no doubt. He hadn't exactly been surprised when he'd overheard her giving that cute boy a fake ID (the internet, it was full of surprise – and yes, he'd been terribly bored the day he'd looked up his parents, but hacking into police records was always so _fun_...not that he'd ever done. He'd just heard it was. Really). But the divorce, Claire going away to college, the sudden need for Mr. Joe Blogs (or whatever his name was) to continuously oppress her despite her protestations, and even the sometimes abrupt appearances of a sullen Lyle (sometimes he wished he was a girl so he could blame his mood swings on PMS, Mom would so let Claire get away with half the things she punished him for). She did not need to know that he drank (not that he did) or did drugs (_definitely _not, eww). She was in fact happy to think of him as Oblivious Lyle, the Normal One. The One Who Caused No Problems.

But seriously, he cared. He even cared about Claire, despite her being a stuck-up bitch sometimes. In fact ever since she'd gone off to college, he'd like her more. Maybe it was the distance? If it was, it should continue, with them only meeting at Christmas, New Years, and other public holidays of the like. He liked that idea. It was a good one. Although he didn't think Mom and Dad would be up for it. He'd have to wait until he was older, maybe at college himself. Yeah. Yeah, that sounded right.

He wanted a friend. There, he said it. Came out of nowhere, didn't it? Well, not for him. He'd always wanted someone he could talk to. Not about his life, my god, they'd probably run away screaming for their Mommies. No, he wanted someone to discuss other things with. His favourite shows. The games he played on his PSP. Whether David Tennant really was the best Doctor. Why certain people from those said shows looked remarkably like people he met in everyday life (seriously, was that just him? That uncle of Claire's, for example – you know, that dude – he looked awfully familiar...and don't even get him started on those guys who worked at the comic book store, what was this, a rerun of Buffy?). You know, stuff like that.

And that's when _he_ moved in across the street. Now, Lyle had never found any guy particularly attractive (okay, fine, that Alex guy Claire had hidden in her closet – what was up with that anyway? Did she really think no one would notice? – he'd been good looking, but no one else) but this one..._wow. _There was a definite wow factor, he was sure.

When he sat back and thought about it, he wasn't outright handsome. Not like that picture hidden in his father's desk, the one with the moustache drawn on in permanent marker. Now that guy was _hot. _Break him off a piece of that. No, this kid (and he was, roughly Lyle's own age or a little younger) was...well, just different looking, he guessed. Maybe he was Lyle's type? Not that Lyle would ever have something as stupid and silly and girlish as a type, my god, how could you even think that.

Anyway, the kid was scrawny. You know, come to think of it, there was no wow. There was no pizzazz. No, there was just simple, incredibly strange attraction. His body had betrayed him yet again.

And the kid's name. _Luke. _Why couldn't his parents have named him Luke? The name of the saint of doctors and artists. Lyle certainly wasn't the name of a freaking _saint. _Or a Jedi Master, for that matter. No, it wasn't the name of anything! Mom must have been on drugs when she gave birth to him (not that he thought about that all too often).

Anyway. Luke. Maybe he should go say hello? It wasn't as though a conversation could start merely by some truly strange mind messaging (although there must be telepaths out there, he just wasn't gifted with that particular ability, dammit) – he'd certainly done his fair share.

Okay. Deep breath. He'd just go over there and say hello. It wasn't hard. It wasn't as though he hadn't talked to anyone. He knew how to do this. He did.

Maybe tomorrow. Yeah, that sounded good. Tomorrow.

[The next day Lyle chickened out yet again, but blamed it on the fact that Claire was visiting that weekend, bringing along with her that Gretchen chick]

[The day after that was Sunday AKA his Day of Rest AKA the Day he locked himself in his room and tried to drive Joe Blogs – or whatever his name was – insane by playing his music _really loud_]

[The day after that, Monday, he had no excuse]

And so, with sweaty palms, a fevered brow (no, seriously, he could be coming down with something) and his courage in hand, he walked across the road (narrowly dodging Joe Blogs biking down the street, bastard should look where he's going, god) and knocked on the door.

Luke opened the door.

Lyle froze. Um, so he should say something...?

"Hello."

Luke looked at him for a moment then returned the greeting.

There was silence. It wasn't deafening, but it was uncomfortable.

He should say something else, shouldn't he? Um...

"I'm Lyle."

"Luke."

They shook hands.

More silence permeated the doorstep. Lyle coughed. Luke blinked, possibly realising he was being rude by not inviting Lyle in (although he couldn't exactly be blamed for his rudeness, this guy just comes up and introduces himself, god, did he really expect an invitation?).

"I live across the street," Lyle blurted out as he walked past Luke, who closed the door behind him. The kid raised an eyebrow at him (cool, he should so learn to do that) and then smiled.

Lyle was lost. Seriously, the kid expected him to be coherent when he was smiling at him like that? God, people expected far too much from him.

And so there was more silence, broken a few minutes later when Luke offered him his choice of beverages (coke, uh, more coke...tea?). Lyle chose a coke, thanks.

They sat at the kitchen table, sipping their respective drinks (Luke had a coke as well). Lyle cleared his throat. The kid glanced up at the noise and stared at him politely. Lyle, for something to do, cleared his throat again. "So," he finally said, "where are your parents?"

He realised he'd just asked an incredibly stupid question because, god, he'd asked about the kid's parents when he was basically trying to pick him up. Worst pick up line _ever. _And that included the one about the angel.

It was Luke's turn to clear his throat. He shrugged. "Mom's...somewhere." He waved his hand in the general direction of the oven, which Lyle hoped didn't mean he was some sort of Hansel reincarnate (the house wasn't made of gingerbread, that helped). "And Dad left years ago." He shrugged again. "I'm kinda on my own."

"Cool." Despite this, Lyle was not impressed. He threw a surreptitious look around the room. The kid _so _needed someone to look after him. The place was a pigsty, as clichéd as that sounds. Dishes piling up in the sink, what looked like mould on the ceiling, some unknown substance encrusting the tabletop. He so didn't want to see the rest of the house if it was like this.

It was.

Lyle tried not to show his disgust as the kid showed him around, actually appearing proud at the mess. How could he live like this?

He immediately offered his services as a cleaner. The kid appeared suspicious, clearly thinking he wanted a payment of some sort. Lyle could certainly think of a few things he wanted (he didn't want to scare the kid away though) but he rushed to reassure Luke that all he wanted was to give him a helping hand.

He forced Luke to help him of course. He wasn't going to go it alone (especially that bathroom...ohmy_god_) and anyway talking to Luke was interesting. They shared no common interests, except a hatred of orange (which Lyle was very thankful for), and so it was a mystery how they became friends so quickly. He guessed chasing the rabid mice out from under the floorboards was enough of an event to bring them together.

Mom noticed. She seemed happy, although she insisted on him showering daily now (god, Mom, give it a rest, will you?) rather than the normal weekly occurrence. Mr. Muggles, in between mooning over the spaniel next door, avoided him as much as possible (come on, he didn't smell that bad!). The weekly phone calls from Dad continued. He listened. Ahhed and hmmed. The usual. He got on better with Claire now. It was the distance, he was sure of it.

Finally, many weeks later (seriously, it was _that_ dirty), the house was clean. They collapsed on the couch and Luke turned on the TV with a sigh. Lyle groaned at his choice of program (the news! Come on! Who wants to be depressed after accomplishing something he'd thought impossible?).

The news was boring for awhile (Iraq situation blah blah racist comments about Obama blah blah Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson _aren't _engaged – what a shocker – blah blah oh wait, they are blah blah) and then suddenly Lyle recognised the man from the moustache picture Dad had once hidden in his desk. He glanced over at Luke. He appeared to recognise him as well (not that Lyle had shared that particularly amusing fact about his father). He'd gone pale, and he didn't seem to be breathing all that well.

"Sylar...?" he whispered, his hand going almost automatically to his throat.

Lyle frowned. Sylar? Why did that name sound so familiar? Wasn't it the name of a watch? Was that how he knew it? No...no...somewhere else. Oh yes, that guy who'd killed lots of people, the one who'd attacked Claire. So _that _was the guy in the picture. Huh. He remembered now. Dad was sure a weird guy. Certainly more childish that he let on.

He shrugged. It wasn't as though the guy was coming after him. He had no special ability (god, like that even mattered, it certainly hadn't done Claire any favours). In fact, if he was honest with himself, he wasn't special at all. He smiled. That was the way he liked it.

But Luke...he almost seemed to know the guy. Who was apparently armed and considered very dangerous, according to the news report. Ha, he'd thought they only said that on crime shows, or in movies, or whatever. So overly dramatic, whether it was true or not.

"Luke?" He placed a hesitant hand on the kid's shoulder. Luke didn't push him away (he took this as a good sign). "Are you okay?" He winced. Okay, obvious much. But it was a good question nevertheless. Maybe the kid would actually confide in him.

Luke shrugged awkwardly. "I'm fine," he said, sounding absolutely-not-fine-ask-me-again.

Lyle raised an eyebrow (he'd been practising). "Oh, really? Care to lie to me again?"

The kid squirmed under his gaze and then blurted out the entire story. How Sylar had tortured a guy in his house, how he'd saved Sylar when the guy had tried to kill him, how they'd gone on some weird road trip, how Luke had got captured by the government agents, and then how Sylar had saved him. Then how Sylar had become really emotional at this run-down diner, and then abandoned him there. He even confessed to having an ability (he demonstrated it, Lyle acting suitably impressed), but what interested Lyle most was the fact that Luke had had a bit of a crush on this Sylar dude (not that Lyle could blame him – after all, he'd been attracted to the guy with that added fake moustache). He brightened. There was hope for him yet.

Luke appeared to think this information would result in Lyle abandoning their friendship, turning him into a social pariah (which he'd definitely been before Lyle had knocked on his door). Like Lyle would be that superficial. Ha. As if. Plus, you know, if Luke could have feelings for some crazy messed up dude who'd named himself after a watch brand (what was up with that anyway?), then there'd definitely be no problem with the kid maybe liking him (okay, so anyone could be better than this Sylar person but whatever, it meant he had a chance, however slim).

Things were definitely looking up.

He had a friend (who, hopefully, could be something more). Definite woo.

He was liking his sister more and more. Okay, not a particular woo, but it was getting there.

Mom seemed happier. Good woo.

Dad also seemed happier. Another good woo.

Life was looking good.

[As usually happens whenever people say this kind of stuff, all hell broke loose. However since hell broke loose elsewhere, rarely affecting Lyle in any way, he didn't particularly care, although he kept tabs on everyone]

[Claire disappeared for awhile, which gave Mom a fright and led to Dad going all badass and wrongfully accusing Joe Blogs of kidnapping his precious Claire-Bear (thank god Dad hadn't given him a hideous nickname like that). Claire turned up a few days later. She pointed the finger at some carnival; Lyle wasn't paying that much attention – in fact, he wasn't even there]

[Other things happened but by that time Lyle was going crazy]

The cause of his apparent fall into insanity was, of course, Luke. The kid was oblivious! He had no idea the effect he had on Lyle. Damn stupid hormones, and that fanfiction stuff he'd discovered while cruising the internet one day (he rarely surfed). They were to blame, along with the way Luke was always that little bit too close, the way he grabbed Lyle's hand when they were watching a horror movie (he immediately dropped it afterwards, much to Lyle's great disappointment), even the way he insisted on wearing no shirt when the weather was particularly balmy (oh, it wasn't that there was much to see, it was just the principle of the thing. Really. And no, he never ogled. Not once). Luke gave him the ammunition, fanfiction stimulated his overcooked, teenage brain, and the hormones just heaped on a little extra oomph. God, it was no wonder he was going crazy.

This summer was pretty hot too. Maybe he was suffering from some strange strand of heat stroke? No, he didn't think so either. No, this was...well, he hesitated to admit it. Was it lust? Part of it could be, but there was more. He cared for the kid. Not like he did for his family (he'd certainly never felt lust for any of them, eww, unlike Claire's biological family, those brothers, far too close, in his opinion). Different, obviously. If that Sylar dude ever came near Luke, he'd, well, he'd do something terribly badass and kick the guy's ass all the way to China and back if he had to. Of course he'd probably do the exact same thing if Sylar ever came near his family. He'd get absolutely pummelled, and probably die in the attempt. But...that was the thing, see. With Luke, there'd be no thought, he'd just do it.

He had to admit, though, that he was kind of relieved a situation like that hadn't presented itself. He'd like to stay alive for a few more years, thank you very much.

He was washing the dishes one day. Luke was watching him. It was a pretty relaxing activity, really, washing the dishes. It kept his mind occupied, kept it from dwelling on that fact that Luke was staring at him (but probably not in that way, dammit). He glanced over to see if that was indeed correct (what can he say? Eternal optimist here) and caught the kid biting his lip. If he hadn't already been crazy, that would have pushed him over the edge. As it was, that simple gesture had Lyle blushing and turning back to the dishes as quickly as possible, trying with very little success to somehow make his jeans a little less tight with only the power of his mind. Damn you, hormones and fanfiction! DAMN YOU!

"Lyle?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah?" Oh yes, thank you, voice, for betraying him like that.

"Lyle...do you like me?"

He froze. What the hell? Where exactly did that come from? He hadn't been too obvious, had he? He tried again to arrange his jeans in a way that didn't clearly show how aroused that simple gesture of biting a lip had made him. His mind was completely useless. Who exactly controlled his body anyway? Obviously not him. Oh well, that was the best he could do.

He turned around to face Luke. "Yeah, of course I do."

"Oh." The kid frowned, brow furrowing in a way that would have made (if he were alone, but then he wouldn't be in this situation if he were alone, so this was useless) him close his eyes and moan softly. He closed his eyes and turned back to the dishes, pushing a hand through the soapy bubbles to pick up a frying pan. He scrubbed at it with single minded intensity, trying to find meaning in the burnt pieces of egg encrusted on the surface. It failed to show itself.

"But do you like me as..." The kid cursed then fell silent. Lyle tried very hard not to channel Mom and say something about bad language and how it would lead to your tongue turning black and falling out. Instead he concentrated on a particularly stubborn piece of spaghetti on one of the plates.

He jumped, dropping the plate back into the sink where it disappeared under the bubbles without a trace, as a hand slid into the water, fingers interlacing with his own. He turned slowly to the left to find Luke practically on top of him, definitely encroaching into his personal space, and how had he not noticed?

He realised he wasn't breathing and took a deep, supposedly calming breath, letting it out with a whoosh. "Um..." he said before Luke interrupted him.

"I mean..." Luke watched him with those brown eyes of his, searching his face (for lies, a piece of food left over from lunch, what?). "Do you like me as...more than a friend?"

Lyle coughed. Hmm, okay. This was...unexpected. He had been so sure Luke didn't feel the way he did (although there had always been the possibility that he was wrong, something he clung to on those lonely nights...and even he could admit to the sappiness of that line) but...well...

Oh fuck it.

He pulled their hands out of the hot water and watched as the water and bubbles dripped off their interlaced fingers. He turned them this way and that, memorising it from every angle he could think of. Why, he didn't know. He was being spontaneous.

"You know," he said, sounding breathless even to himself (really, that deep breath hadn't worked _at all_). "I think I definitely like you more than a friend."

"Really?" The kid's voice practically bounced with hope, it was almost painful to hear.

"Really really," Lyle replied, thinking that he totally understand how Shrek had felt. Totally.

There was a silence as they both gazed at their intertwined fingers. It was surprisingly comfortable. No pressure at all. Lyle smiled.

And that was when Luke moved closer, pushing himself up a little (because, yes, there was a difference in height), and kissed him. It was small, merely a press of lips against lips. It wasn't Lyle's first kiss, but it was his first kiss with Luke. And, somehow, that made it special. As clichéd, sappy and sentimental as that sounded, it was special. It felt special, like...well, like it was the first kiss of the rest of his life.

So, definitely special.

[And so Lyle and Luke were happy in their little alcove, while the world fell apart around them]

[Of course a year later everything was fine, because certain people make a fuss about absolutely nothing]

[Are you talking about me?]

[Of course I am. Idiot]

[Now you're calling me an idiot! Do you _want _me to cut your head open again?]

[...I can think of better things we can do...]

[*sniff* I have no idea what you're talking about...]

[Really?]

[Yes, re—_oh._ Peter, you did that on purpose]

[No, you somehow just fell on my fingers]

[...would you mind if I accidentally fell on your fingers again?]

[Oh, now you feel like getting some. Well, I just don't feel up to—_oh_]

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**Look, don't ask me why my brain decided to make Peter and Sylar tell Lyle and Luke's story. I really couldn't tell you. **

**Review please. **


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